the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world and all our woe...
Sing, heavenly muse.

My Catholic friend had left the table and was saying a Pater Noster and
Ave Maria in the corner. Presently all became still and so dark that I
could not see anybody. I described it to somebody next day as like going
out of a noisy political meeting on to a quiet country road. I said to
myself, "I am now in a trance but I no longer have any desire to resist."
But when I turned my eyes to the fireplace I could see a faint gleam of
light, so I thought "no, I am not in a trance." Then I saw shapes faintly
appearing in the darkness & thought, "they are spirits;" but they were
only the spiritualists and my friend at her prayers. The medium said in a
faint voice, "we are through the bad spirits." I said, "will they ever
come again, do you think?" and he said, "no, never again, I think," and in
my boyish vanity I thought it was I who had banished them. For years
afterwards I would not go to a seance or turn a table and would often ask
myself what was that violent impulse that had run through my nerves? was
it a part of myself--something always to be a danger perhaps; or had it
come from without, as it seemed?

XXXII

I had published my first book of poems by subscription, O'Leary finding
many subscribers, and a book of stories, when I heard that my grandmother
was dead and went to Sligo for the funeral. She had asked to see me but by
some mistake I was not sent for. She had heard that I was much about with
a beautiful, admired woman and feared that I did not speak of marriage
because I was poor, and wanted to say to me "women care nothing about
money." My grandfather was dying also and only survived her a few weeks. I
went to see him and wondered at his handsome face now sickness had refined
it, and noticed that he foretold the changes in the weather by
indications of the light and of the temperature that could not have told
me anything. As I sat there my old childish fear returned and I was glad
to get away. I stayed with my uncle whose house was opposite where my
grandfather lived, and walking home with him one day we met the doctor.
The doctor said there was no hope and that my grandfather should be told,
but my uncle would not allow it. He said "it would make a man mad to know
he was dying." In vain the doctor pleaded that he had never known a man
not made calmer by the knowledge. I listened